


We Are Broken

by allthingsangelic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe - Doctors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Depressed Dean, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Dark, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam is worried, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Stargazing, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, elective mutism, long ass driving, no vacancy motels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:43:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthingsangelic/pseuds/allthingsangelic
Summary: Castiel didn’t know what changed.He didn’t know how their romance had seemingly faded, like the life of it was seeping through their hands and yet he could not grasp it; could only watch as it slipped through his cold fingertips. Or perhaps he did know. He just didn’t want to admit it. Perhaps it was a desperate wish of remaining in the bliss of ignorance. That maybe if he kept insisting that nothing was broken, then it would come true. But the bliss is a lie, and a blossoming problem which has left them in pieces.





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had expected – no, wanted to see;
> 
> "Went out for a walk, be back soon. Happy anniversary. Love you.  
> We’ll talk, okay?"
> 
> Which, really, wasn’t all that realistic; he knows Dean. He doesn’t do feelings… but Castiel was desperate.
> 
> Still, despite all that, nothing could ever prepare him for what he saw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Can't wait to share this story with you :) Although, I have yet to edit this, so please bear with me :')  
> Thanks in advance!

                                                                 

 

  

The wooden floor creaked under weary footsteps.

Darkness enveloped the hall. Silence. It was silent.

It was daytime, yet the hallways of the house remained untouched by the warm rays of the sun since the curtains were all laid out, thick and heavy, without a single light source to illuminate the way.

The silence and darkness gave off an eerie and depressing ambiance, yet Dean seemed unfazed; this was normal for him. It had been for some time.

He had gotten used to locking himself in their room up until the afternoon, and only sneaked off at night to stare absent-mindedly at the sky from their porch. And then when it was 5am, he would make his way back to their room and hide under the covers. He would then pretend to be asleep until he feels the body next to his slowly get off of the bed. But today, he left the room earlier than expected.

Castiel had always tried to coax him out of bed before, but now he just stared at Dean with a sad and tired glint in his eyes. No. Not sad. _Disappointed_. He sometimes wonders why Castiel keeps on putting up with his shit; wouldn’t even be surprised if he doesn’t come home one day.

He continued treading on in the lonely hallways until he reaches the living room.

The living room wasn’t any better than the rest of the house; wasn’t an exception to the gloominess that had seemed to envelope every place of the damned structure. Well, save for one window that looked naked without the curtains. But it didn’t matter; the sun didn’t shine bright enough at a time like this.

 _For a living room, there isn’t much life in it,_ he bitterly laughs at his own joke. His hollow laughter resonates throughout the hollow room, and once again he is reminded that he was alone. Which, by the way, he should be used to as well. What with the way he treats those around him, he shouldn’t be surprised if they all left.

_Just you wait, Castiel’s gonna leave next._

_Or maybe… you’d leave him. ‘cause you’re that cruel._

He lets his fingertips brush over the surface of the walls and furniture, a small nostalgic smile on his lips as he does so. He looks over at picture frames that had once given life to the room – memories _they_ have treasured, in print. But now they were just that: pictures. Pictures that have lost their spark. Pictures that were just images printed on paper, no longer a fleeting moment of utmost importance caught in film. Pictures that no longer make him smile and instead cause an irritation to the eyes; he was too exhausted to feel anything but grief.

Dean walks on.

He then finds his fingers landing on the keys of their old grand piano and suddenly, his smile fades. It was an antique; its keys have turned yellow due to age, like the pages of an old book. And he was certain that if he looks close enough, there’d be at least two layers of dust that have settled on the once pristine keys. It was so _familiar_ and brought memories back to him that he couldn’t resist taking a seat to play with the keys, and so he does.

Dean sits down on the stool and presses a key on the piano. He repeatedly does this until he finds a rhythm, the beginning of the interlude starting to take him away. Slowly, he lifts his other hand to play, and that’s how he finds himself playing a familiar tune – a lullaby. He is lost in the tune of his childhood that for a moment, he was certain that he could hear the whisper of his mother’s voice. A sweet and soft, yet powerful voice that he remembers could always render him calm. Her voice that was like a soft caress against his rough skin.

 

  _"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly."_

Dean suddenly felt just how ragged his body was; his hands feeling thick. His calloused fingers were a great contrast against the smooth surface of the keys, and Dean badly wishes that another certain pair of hands were there to play with him. Long, slender, and –  unlike his – smooth fingers. They belong to a _much_ better doctor. They belong to the man he loves.

He plays the lullaby on a loop for quite some time. And by the time he reluctantly lifts his hands from the keys, the sun was about to set. Dean pushes back the stool away from the piano, but he doesn’t stand up. Instead, he digs his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants and retrieves a slightly crumpled paper that has been folded twice. He unfolds it and stares at the scribbles of ink that are known to be his own handwriting. He rereads it once, twice, and the bitter smile makes its way back on his lips and a tear rolls down his cheek. He roughly wipes it away and, with shaky fingers, places the piece of paper on top of the keys of the piano.

He remains seated silently, just watching the sun set from the window as if something spontaneous would happen; maybe the sun would burn itself out. Maybe it would stop setting altogether.

But such didn’t happen, it was impossible to. It was quite systematic; the sun would set, and then rise again, because that was how it was meant to be.

Dean fell, but he didn’t rise again. Was that also how it was meant to be?

He wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Good things don’t happen, at least not to him. Although he had forgotten that; forgot that if he so much as thinks that he could be happy, life would come back to stab him in the back like the bitch it was. So really, it was his fault. He had forgotten. The least he could do was not to drag someone along with him to his doom.

He finally stands up and walks back to their room.

When Dean Winchester walks out of the room, he isn’t alone; with him is a duffel bag and the keys of the Impala.

And when the engine of the Impala rumbles, it feels like a soft caress – much like the voice of his mom – that Dean feels has been long overdue; as if it has been the first gesture that remotely feels like human contact he’s felt in a long time.

He presses on the gas and drives; drives away from the darkness and silence; drives away from the empty halls and meaningless photos; drives away from _home_.

He drives away from _Castiel._

 

Castiel was on a rush to get home.

He skidded down the halls of the hospital, which would often be considered unprofessional, given that he was a doctor. But at this moment, he couldn’t care less. He makes one last stop by the main counter where, as expected, Jo was waiting for him.

Jo raises a brow at him which makes Castiel feel ridiculous. But he pushes the feeling down in favor of catching his breath. “Have you got it?”

Jo considers him for a moment, but sighs once Jessica hands her a paper bag. She then passes it to Castiel. “You call me, alright Novak? I’m worried about him too.”

“Thanks, Jo. I owe you one.” Castiel says and then he’s off running once again.

“Just put it in your tab!” Jo yells after him.

Jessica sighs beside her.

 

The car was a screechy thing when he started it up, and Castiel immediately checked the gas meter. And thankfully, he still had enough to get home.

He had already worked overtime, though he didn’t want to. If only people could quit breaking their limbs for just _two seconds_ , then he could actually get home on time. A six-hour long surgery was a bitch to do, that’s for sure.

But there was a heavier reason why he had to get home soon, and he wasn’t gonna let work fuck this up.

Castiel had long been out of his scrubs and is currently wearing a white dress shirt with black slacks; the ill-colored trench coat stuffed at the back of his Lincoln Continental. The rumble of the engine only served to make him more anxious, and the vehicle smelled of pie that he was worried had already gone cold. 

It was sufficing to say that Castiel was only able to breathe freely once he had turned to their street; practically smashing on the pedal just to park the damn thing so that he could finally get home.

In fact, he was such in a hurry that he wasn’t able to notice the Impala’s absence once he had parked the Continental. He took the pie – which was still warm, he’d have to thank Jo – along with his coat and ran the steps to their front door.

Castiel switched the lights on in the hallway once he locked the door. It clicked shut with a sound too loud for the all too quiet hall, but Castiel didn’t want to think about that. He hung his coat but didn’t stall any longer, Dean was probably waiting. Probably thinking that he had _forgotten_. He walked down the halls looking for any sign if Dean had been there.

“Dean?”

There was no response.

Castiel walked into the living room and sighed when he didn’t find Dean there. He must still be in the room. _He really shouldn’t be doing this to himself_ , he thinks sadly. He sits down on a stool in despair and recklessly places the pie on top of the piano keys.

And that’s when he sees the note.

It falls in a sideways motion until it reaches the flat surface of the floor.

Castiel slowly picks it up, running every possible situation in his mind within the span of seconds his hand had reached out for the crumpled piece of paper. He would never admit that his fingers were shaking as he unfolded the note.

He had expected – no, _wanted_ to see;

 

_Went out for a walk, be back soon. Happy anniversary. Love you._

_We’ll talk, okay?_

Which, really, wasn’t all that realistic; he _knows_ Dean. He doesn’t do _feelings…_ but Castiel was desperate.

 

Still, despite all that, nothing could ever prepare him for what he saw;

****

  _ **Cas,**_

 

_**I love you. But it's not enough. Can't bring you down with me. I'm sorry. Please don't look for me.** _

_**You're one stubborn son of a bitch and I know that you'll try to. But don't. Please.** _

 

 

_**D. W.** _

 

 

Castiel hears a crash right beside him, and distantly he knows that it was the pie he had so idiotically placed on top of the keys – oh god, he was an _idiot_. How could Dean _ever_ put up with his shit – _Oh_. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Not anymore.

But his mind wasn’t able to process that yet – _No_. Dean was still here. He’s probably in their room. Probably still waiting for Castiel to get the _fuck_ in there. So, Castiel walks to their room and he thinks to himself that he was gonna fix this. He was. He’s gonna… He’s gonna go in there and – and lie down next to Dean and hold him like he was afraid of letting go, and he was. He _really_ was. And then he was gonna kiss him until Dean didn’t hurt anymore. And then he’s gonna say I’m sorry – I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_. _I love you_. And then… And then…

Castiel opens the door, and he feels his heart drop; a sick feeling just pooling at the bottom of his stomach.

Dean wasn’t there. Not anymore.

Castiel was too late.

He suddenly feels light headed and attempts to use the walls of their room as support, but fails. He falls to his knees and something broken escapes from his mouth, but he doesn’t care. The room is spinning and then suddenly, his heart was beating too fast yet time seems to slow down. The moment freezes itself and Castiel plants his fist unto the floor, once, twice, thrice. And then he was bleeding. He was bleeding and he felt nauseous. But that didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

_Dean wasn’t there._

 

 

It was gonna be a long drive, that much he knew. In fact, he had expected it to be comforting; the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine, just him and the road.

But it wasn’t. Dean felt restless and the road didn’t prove to be a good companion on this long ass journey. He had scavenged his tapes and played Metallica at the highest volume, and yet, it was still too quiet.

More than once had he caught himself reaching for the seat beside him, and is momentarily caught off guard when he doesn’t feel a hand there. He looks at the empty shotgun seat for longer than what should be legal when you’re driving in the middle of the night. But to hell with it, he felt reckless without _him_.

There were a lot of times when Dean almost turned back – had wanted to come back home. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Castiel probably hated him; was probably glad that he finally got rid of some burden. So, he drove on, even though it didn’t feel right.

He was absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb over his ring finger, and scowled when he caught himself doing so. His ring finger felt naked, felt too light without the familiar weight provided by the silver ring he had left behind. It made his fingers itch, and Dean felt uneasy. As if the ring was meant to be nowhere other than his finger, and Dean supposes that it was true. And that was terrifying.

He'd spare himself the internal monologue that ‘Castiel deserves better’ because honestly, he had been repeating it like a mantra for over a decade. He had repeated it until unconsciously, he started to believe it. And really, he guesses that that’s where it all started spiraling downwards for their marriage.

Momentary flashes of images bombarded Dean’s mind that exact moment. Blood _. So much blood_. A scream. And a gunshot. So much blood on his hands.

Dean shakes his head and suppresses a shiver. He flexes his hand on the steering wheel and lets out a shaky sigh. His eyes were shining with unshed tears and _– why was the road so blurry? Damn eyesight._

He presses on the gas more forcefully than he intended but it does the job to distract him as he is unceremoniously jerked forward by the force. He lets in a deep intake of air to calm the shaking of his fingers and hums a low tune under his breath – Metallica. Because it calms him. But not this time.

The Impala’s headlights are the only source of light he has as he drives along the long and lonely road.

He drives, and once again wonders if he was doing the right thing.

 

 

Castiel remained on the floor until his feet went numb. His tears had long been dried by the cool air that circulated the room, but he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there. A minute? An hour? The concept of time was incomprehensible to him at the moment, not that it really mattered. There was a cold, blank look on his face as he continued to stare at the unclothed window, hoping that it would have the answers.

But it only offered a dim light emitted by the moon, and Castiel’s questions remained unanswered.

He was jerked back into consciousness when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He carelessly retrieves it and checks the caller ID – Sam – before slowly lifting it to his ear.

“Sam.”

 _“Hey, Cas. Just checking in, how are things?”_ Sam tries to pull off nonchalantly, but Castiel knows what he really wants to ask – _how’s Dean?_

And for the first time in his existence, Castiel honestly doesn’t know.

“He’s gone, Sam.”

“ _Dean just needs – wait, what do you mean he’s gone?”_ Sam asks, and Castiel chuckles bitterly.

“He left, Sam. What’s there to say?”

“ _He le- No… No. No.”_ frustration and disbelief was obvious in his tone.

 _“I… How are you holding up, man_?” Castiel smiles sadly at that, because _of course_ , Sam always worries about others.

“Doesn’t matter,” He replies curtly.

The line went silent, and Castiel had to check if Sam had hung up on him.

He continues to stare at the window and is struck with an overwhelming sense of worthlessness and helplessness. Dean’s out there. Alone _. He’s been unhappy for a long time. And it was all his fault._

But before he could further torture himself with his own thoughts, he hears Sam’s voice.

“Do you think he…” Sam paused, hesitating to continue. But he didn’t need to. Castiel understands what he wants to say.

And for a moment, it’s all that his mind can imagine. Dean drinking one too many bottles of whiskey. _Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?_

“No… he- he wouldn’t.” But Castiel feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone.

Sam sighs, “ _You want us to come over there? I’m picking up Jess.”_

“That won’t be necessary.”

 _“… fine, Cas. I’ll… try to call him. I’ll call you back when I got something.”_ Sam sighs

Castiel nods before he remembers that Sam can’t see him, so he says, “Thank you, Sam.” And then he hangs up.

He was once again left in the silence and stillness of the night. The harsh wind picks up and causes the windows to forcefully open, as it was not locked in the first place.

He slowly rises from his position and walks over to the window to lock it. Then he stalks on to the bed; his hands grazing just the surface. A bitter smile forms on his lips when he sees that the sheet was slightly wrinkled. _Dean had been here._

It was only then that he noticed that the lamp by their bedside table was left open. Castiel looks down at the contents on top of their bedside table and sees their picture. It’s an old picture of when he and Dean went to a rest house located in Lebanon, Kansas. It was a six-hour drive. But it had been worth it.

Dean had loved it there. Even wanted to live there if it weren’t only for the long distance away from Sam and Jo. They planned to stay there for three days that eventually stretched into two weeks. Dean had been well acquainted with a gruff, rough-around-the-edges, good old man named Bobby Singer. He had helped in his auto shop for the short duration of their stay. But they had to get back to Lawrence because of their jobs, although they didn’t leave without promising the old man that they’d be back.

That had been three years ago, and they still haven’t gotten back.

But the memory fades away when he notices something else – a wedding ring. _Dean’s_ wedding ring.

Dean’s ring was taped on the corner of the picture, just below the frame. Castiel takes it off and sees the message they had encrypted on the inside of the ring;

_and you’ll find me there._

Castiel looks at it fondly. It had been Dean’s idea: to encrypt a message into both of their rings.

Castiel’s said; _look into your heart_

And Dean’s; _and you’ll find me there_

 

 

 

But then something clicks in his mind and Castiel looked back at the picture. Was this a clue?

He momentarily tries to dismiss the thought, trying to respect Dean’s wish. But…Dean had been right; he _is_ one stubborn son of a bitch.

He picks up the picture frame and let his hand softly caress Dean’s gleaming face. His smile turns bitter and painful. What he would give just to see him that happy again. Was this his chance? Had Dean really left him a clue?

Castiel lets out a shaky sigh.

 “ _And I’ll find you there.”_


End file.
